Klaus hovered in the air, his cloak fluttering in the lingering wind, his eyes locked onto Max with a grim expression.
'This isn't him anymore. That sword… it's taken over.'
But Max?
He didn't blink.
Didn't hesitate.
He was already gripping the sword tighter, readying for another strike, his wings twitching, his teeth clenched.
Because there was only one thought left in his mind.
Kill Lucas.
And he once again shot into the sky to just that.
"Max…" Klaus whispered as the smoke of their clash faded. He could see it clearly now.
There was no getting through to him.
Max wasn't listening. He wasn't even seeing.
The boy was gone—buried beneath wrath, loss, and the curse of that sword.
Klaus didn't stop him. He simply turned and vanished in a blur of black flames, heading back toward the Divine Palace. He needed to ensure the Monarch didn't catch wind of Max's return. As long as no one else interfered, Max wouldn't start a war.
Not unless someone stood between him and Lucas.
